


The Drift of Stars

by burningbright



Series: The Cause and End of Movement [2]
Category: Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Crusade
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Gen, I'm not reading the technomage trilogy again and you can't make me, Slow Burn, ambitious scope, canon compliant within reason, if by fixing you mean finishing, the trouble with technomages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 23:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20732135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningbright/pseuds/burningbright
Summary: Technomages know many things:Fourteen words to make someone fall in love with you forever.Seven words to make them go without pain.How to say goodbye to a friend who is dying.How to be poor, and how to be rich.How to rediscover dreams when the world has stolen them from you.But there are still some lessons left to learn:The words to mend a broken trust.When to be strong, and when to be weak.How to heal a body (and cure a plague).How to heal a heart.How to rediscover dreams when the world has stolen them from you.





	1. What's Past is Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is meant to do two things: to provide a satisfactory (to me) resolution for the themes of the show, and to let me indulge my enjoyment of the Galen/Dureena relationship, set against the backdrop of the fabulous ensemble dynamics.
> 
> It's also about 20 years old in its original form, and I'm picking it up after a 10 year hiatus, so if you've visited before and are noticing some rather... drastic changes, that's why.
> 
> There are OCs, who I hope won't be too obtrusive, and who I hope will add something interesting and unique to the ensemble dynamics. If you don't enjoy OCs, please check out Proper Motion for Galen & Dureena goodness that takes place during the period covered by the show.

It had started with a dream—a man, a warning, a chance. Now Dureena dreamed again.

"You know what they have done." It was not a question. Although his face had been in shadow before, there was no mistaking the voice. It was the same man. His face was haggard, and his voice held an edge of exhaustion she didn't remember hearing before. "There will be a mission, a search for a cure. Someone of your talents could be uniquely useful, if you chose to participate." There was a question in those guarded words, and Dureena didn't hesitate even a moment before answering it.

"Yes. Just tell me how."

* * *

They met without words. None were needed. Purpose and plan had been forged in the flash of understanding and a far-reaching dream.

They moved through the station, silent and purposeful as death. Weapons were chosen and discarded, stores and disguises refreshed, no choice requiring more than a meeting of eyes for agreement or dismissal. They left in that same silence—never a word spoken or needed, acting in perfect unison. Only when they were free in space did she speak.

"Where will we go?"

"Mars," he replied, and silence reigned again.

No words were needed.

Getting picked up by the police wasn't in the plan, of course.

* * *

Deep in the seamy underbelly of Marsdome, Dureena dreamed.

"I need to leave for a while, but I'm sure we'll meet again soon. There are a few things you should know, in case my absence is more prolonged than I anticipate. A man named Matthew Gideon will be arriving soon. He has been chosen to head the search for a cure, and he will need you on his team. If I have not returned by the time he arrives, find him and give him your qualifications—"

The connection snapped suddenly, leaving Galen with an aching head which throbbed in time with his implants as they processed the backlash. He sighed and settled back, gently massaging his temples. Pointless to try and re-establish the electron incantation until he had recovered. He already regretted his hasty departure and the urgency which had not allowed him time to find and collect his companion. Her company had not been the irritant he had expected it to be, used as he was to solitude. Now, without her, the reaches of his ship seemed just a little darker, a little emptier and more lonely. He found he missed the quiet scrape of metal on whetstone, the spare, evocative movements which could communicate just as effectively as speech. They had carried out whole conversations that way—as much gesture as word. In this lone woman, sole survivor of her race, he had found a kindred spirit.

He decided not to worry about the incantation. His errand wouldn't take long, and Dureena was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

* * *

Dureena woke to a sharp kick in the ribs. Normally she would have been on her feet, knife in hand, before she was truly awake, but she was swamped by dizziness as she strove to break free of the dream. It only took her a split second longer, but in that second they were on her. The two toughs were big, but she was fast and she fought hard, determined to escape into the milling throng only a few yards from her curtained alcove. They were all studiously ignoring the fight. In a place like this, you either learned the rules of survival or you died, and the first rule was "Mind your own business". She broke free of her attackers at last and darted out into the crowd, ducking and weaving as she attempted to gain as much distance as possible. The men behind her weren't as careful, and the fight began to spread through the crowd until it was a great seething melee with Dureena trapped in the middle. She saw the man wielding a broken-off chair leg as a club draw back and aim at her head, but there was no room and no time to dodge.

The last thing she saw before she crumpled to the floor was a flood of Marsdome police in full riot gear bearing down on the mob. Then darkness engulfed her and she knew nothing more for quite some time.


	2. First Impressions

In theory, there were normal, boring days on the Excalibur—days spent simply traveling through the vast immensity of space or the weird currents of hyperspace, days when the most exciting thing that happened was a transmission from home or a holo being shown in the mess hall.

In theory.

In practice, it seemed like there was always something weird, urgent, or unexpected happening. So in that respect, the mystery that had filled the bridge with dozens of people all jostling as they vied for a better view of the strange object displayed on the screens was hardly out of the ordinary at all.

"What is it?" asked Sarah Chambers, watching in fascination as the six-armed black shape drifted through the night, visible to the naked eye only by the stars it blotted out. Another screen showed a rough model of the object, rotating as the computer flickered through comparison after comparison searching for a match.

"Unknown, ma'am," answered an ensign. "It must be a ship of some kind, but the design doesn't match anything in our database. We're searching for partial matches now."

Eilerson, peering over the doctor's shoulder, frowned as he studied the displays. "I don't know," he murmured. "Something about it seems familiar, but I just can't pin it down." He pointed at the central mast which seemed to pierce directly through the center of the shape. "Something about that. Without it, I would think we were looking at some kind of Shadow vessel. With it… ." He trailed off, squinting at the object as if willing it to give up its secrets.

"I don't care what it is," Gideon said, breaking away from a tense consultation with Lieutenant Matheson. "There isn't supposed to be any other traffic out here. This meeting is too important for any unknown variables to interfere." He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "And it's too secret for us to hail them and confirm our identity."

"Unless you know something the rest of us don't, Captain, this is still the only Excalibur-class ship around," Trace drawled sardonically. "It's not like we're hard to recognize."

"That may be so, but we have our orders. Our contact has insisted on stringent security precautions, and the information they claim to have is too valuable to our search for the cure for us to deviate from the protocol they've laid out." He sighed. "But our contact won't show up with them here. All right. Fire a warning shot, see if we can run them off." There was an unhappy murmur from some of the gathered crew members. "I don't like it any better than you do, but we don't exactly have a lot of options. Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Try not to hit them. I don't want to start a shooting war while we're waiting for our big date."

"Aye, sir." He turned to the gunners. "Take aim and fire on my mark."

"Hold your fire." Galen's voice was calm, but it carried a weight that stilled the gunners' hands. Everyone turned to stare at him, standing in the previously empty doorway.

"Galen, those might be hostile aliens. Nobody is supposed to be out here but us," Gideon protested.

"Those ships are of technomage design, Matthew. They might be aliens, but they're hardly likely to be hostile." He said it gently, but there was steel behind the words. "And judging by their heading I'd say they haven't heard about the flight ban in this sector of space."

"What do you mean?"

"Look at them. They're not moving towards the Rim, they're moving away from it. I suspect they're a bit out of touch with recent events. Why don't you let me get in touch with them and see if we can't all work this out without excessive force, hmm?" His smile invited them all to join him in his amusement at the foibles of military procedure, but nothing in his voice or manner made the question anything other than a statement.

Gideon looked grim, but not really unhappy at the prospect of avoiding a possible confrontation. "Fine. But you do it from your ship. We're not going to actively disobey a direct order from EarthGov using the phone line they're paying for." Galen nodded, and was gone as silently as he had come.

Lieutenant Matheson broke the ensuing silence. "Shall I order the gunners to stand down, sir?"

Gideon sighed. "Yes, lieutenant. Stand down."

* * *

Dureena was waiting on the flight deck, leaning casually against a wall.

"You already know, don't you?" There was a mix of exasperation and amusement in Galen’s voice as he stopped in front of her.

She smirked, looking up at him. "Of course. I can't believe nobody else figured it out."

"And you didn't tell them because…?"

"I knew you'd get around to telling them sooner or later." She shrugged fluidly and pushed away from the wall in the same motion. "And I knew you couldn't 'accidentally' do anything interesting without me if I got here before you. Besides," she said as she turned towards his flyer, "everyone was bored anyway."

Galen shook his head as he followed her to the sleek black silhouette of his ship. "What makes you think I'll take you with me? I could leave you behind on purpose, you know." Dureena stopped just shy of one dark wing, suddenly serious, and studied his face, looking intently into his eyes.

"You won't," she said firmly. "I asked." He opened his mouth to protest that point, but she cut him off. "I asked. Just not with words." One corner of her mouth crooked up a little, acknowledgement of her unorthodox definition of 'asking'. “Anyway, if you were going to stop me from coming, you would have done it already.”

He spread his hands in silent acknowledgement, and the curtain of dark light that marked the entrance to his ship sprang open before them. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t enforce the privacy of his conversation if needed, after all—and in truth, the company would be welcome today.

* * *

As Galen had come to expect, Dureena eschewed the few austere chairs his ship had to offer (“Too tall,” she’d said, the first time she saw them) and instead settled herself crosslegged on the bench that ran along one wall to watch, sharp-eyed, as he piloted the flyer out into open space and began to hail the strange ships. Absently, she pulled several lengths of fine sinew from a pouch and began to braid them into a thin cord, her attention on Galen’s activities even as her deft fingers twisted the strands together.

Shortly, a neat little sphere coalesced in midair, hovering a little below the height of Galen's eyes. He glanced at Dureena and sketched a few glowing lines on the ground.

“These are the boundaries I’ve set for the holographic projector. As long as you remain outside of them, our visitors should neither see nor hear you.” Dureena studied the lines carefully, her head cocked, before nodding her understanding to Galen. At her nod, he gestured. The lines faded away, and took with them the sphere and the little ambient light provided by the ship.

In the darkness, an image grew.

There were two of them, a man and a woman. They stood side by side, bathed in a warm light which had no source on Galen's ship. Neither wore the hooded black cloak that marked out members of their order, and yet both had an indefinable air that left Dureena in no doubt that they were technomages.

Because she was studying them closely, Dureena saw the brief flicker of emotion that crossed the woman's face as the image steadied and resolved. There was recognition there, and surprise, and something else—something Dureena thought might be sadness or resignation. It was gone again too soon to be sure.

"Hello, Galen." The woman’s voice was low and controlled, well-matched to the neutral mask she now wore.

Dureena stole a sideways glance at Galen, gauging his reaction. He didn't seem surprised to see the woman, whoever she was—but then, he rarely looked surprised by anything. In his profession, as in hers, an unreadable expression was a treasure beyond compare, and visible surprise might be a weapon you handed to the enemy. Still, she thought she was familiar enough with him to read the small signs in the set of his mouth and the tilt of his brow, and she saw no surprise—only something like ironic resignation.

“Amara.” The greeting was accompanied by the bare sketch of a nod, and his voice was as shuttered as his face. There was a brief, awkward pause, and then the woman gestured to her companion.

“Allow me to introduce my traveling companion—Conall mac Niall.”

When greetings had been exchanged between the two men, she saw Galen’s eyes flicker in her direction. With no more ceremony than a twitch of his fingers, the sound of voices cut out abruptly, although the conversation clearly continued.

Dureena didn’t need to hear what they said to know that whatever answers the new technomages were giving to Galen’s questions disturbed him. It was written in the stony set of his brow and the clench of his jaw. She could almost hear the way he would be clipping off his words, sharp and precise as the lash of a whip.

As the time stretched on, she set aside the cord and began to prowl the bounds Galen had set, studying the new mages in greater detail and filing the information away against future need, trying to guess the substance of their discussion. She knew when Galen told them about the Drakh plague and the Excalibur’s mission by their faces, the man paling and the woman’s hand flying involuntarily to her mouth, and saw the way they leaned closer into each other, as if for comfort.

When Galen finally broke the connection, the silence remained, somehow bleaker than it had been when it was enforced by his spell. His eyes were focused far away, fixed on some other time or place. It was a mood she had grown more familiar with lately, and she knew there was no point in trying to break it. Better to wait it out than disturb him before he was ready. She took up the cord again.

The cording was finished, used to rewrap the hilt of one of her knives, and she had moved on to sharpening it before he spoke again.

“Matthew isn’t going to like this.”


	3. Introductions and Omissions

‘This,’ it turned out, was an offer from the two new mages to stay and add their talents to the mission.

The trouble with Galen, of course, was knowing when he was telling the unvarnished truth and when he was shaping it for his own purposes. He didn’t generally _lie_, as such, but Dureena had noticed he had a habit of telling only the part of the truth that best suited his ends. As he recounted what the other mages had told him and the offer they had put forward, she thought this might be one of those times. It was something in the tone of voice—a little _too_ persuasive, the sincerity a touch overplayed—and in the way he deflected her questions when she tried to probe deeper into the reason for their presence.

“Galen, unless you’re not telling me something you plan on sharing with the captain, I can’t see why he wouldn’t jump at the chance.” Looking at Galen’s set face, Dureena was inclined to think that any reluctance he was assigning to the captain was more likely to be a projection of his own feelings. “Is there a problem I’m missing here? Because for someone who was just working so hard to convince me this is a good idea, you seem awfully unhappy about it.”

“My personal feelings have no impact on their potential utility to the mission.” There was a flinty edge to his words, and his gaze was icy.

“Fine.” Dureena shrugged and sheathed the knife she had been working on, secreting it amongst her garments and drawing out another in one economical gesture.

The pause stretched out, broken only by the scrape of whetstone on metal, and she glanced up to find Galen watching her with a puzzled look on his face.

“What?”

“I rather expected more of a fight from you than that. It’s not like you to let things go so easily.”

Dureena snorted in response. “Galen, my people have less than a year left before the plague wipes them all out. Probably only months before the population is reduced so much that they’re doomed anyway. If you say these people can help, and the only thing bothering you is that you don’t _like _them very much—I can live with that.”

* * *

Fortunately, given the chancy state of the captain’s temper on their return, Galen bypassed the necessity of convincing Gideon to allow Conall and Amara to join the mission immediately by the simple expedient of suggesting the flyers dock with the Excalibur until the rendezvous was complete.

“Think of it as slight of hand, Matthew. Now you see them, now you don’t.” Gideon looked dubious, and Galen continued. “It will take much longer for them to clear this sector than it will for them to dock temporarily. I’ll even vouch for their good behavior while they’re on board, if you like.”

Gideon considered for another moment before nodding assent. “Fine. The sooner we can get this meeting done, the happier I’ll be. But if they manage to screw this up, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

And that was that, except for some shuffling on the flight deck to accommodate the two additional flyers.

* * *

The contact was hours late to the rendezvous, stretching everyone’s tempers nearly to breaking point as the tension ratcheted higher and higher. Things didn’t improve from there.

Afterwards, they sat in the conference room contemplating the pitifully meager information new information they had received.

“A library.” The captain’s tone was flat. “We waste _days_ getting here, they show up late, and all they have to offer is a story about a library on a planet they’ve never actually visited which might or might not have anything of actual value—which again, they don’t know because they’ve never actually _been there_.”

Dr. Chambers sighed. “I hate to say it, but I agree—they couldn’t even say for sure whether the library is still being maintained. It’s third-hand information, at best.”

“It’s a fairytale,” Eilerson interjected with a scoff. “The Rangers gave us coordinates for two worlds that initial surveys suggest are much better prospects.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that the fact that they also have all sorts of potentially exploitable archaeology you can mine for IPX has _nothing_ to do with your preference for those,” she snapped back.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Doctor: what’s good for business is good for Earth. Finding a cure and keeping my employers happy don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

Gideon brought his hand sharply on the table, cutting off the familiar argument before it could gather more steam. “Enough. In this case, I think we can all agree that Mr. Eilerson is right—painful as that admission might be.” Eilerson settled back in his chair with a smug grin, ignoring the dig. “We’ve wasted enough time here. Lieutenant, set a heading for the first target from the Rangers, maximum burn.”

“Aye, Captain.” Matheson saluted and headed for the bridge.

“And now to deal with the little matter of our uninvited guests.” Gideon swiveled to face Galen where he stood watching. “Well?” His tone was challenging. Dureena glanced up at that, her attention sharp on the two men, but relaxed when she saw that Galen’s expression as he answered was mild.

“As I said, they happened to be passing through. Merely a coincidence, Matthew.”

Gideon snorted in response. “I don’t believe in coincidence where technomages are involved. Try again.”

Galen spread his hands wide, palms open. “If you won’t take my word for it, ask them yourself.”

“Absolutely not! I’m not having two complete strangers wandering around this ship sticking their noses into everything and getting into who knows what—”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that.” Galen didn’t make any perceptible movement or give any signal, but the room dimmed slightly and two black-robed figures appeared in half-scale, hovering over the conference table. They were surrounded by the same sourceless light that had accompanied them on Galen’s ship, but Dureena noted with interest that it seemed less warm and inviting as it fell over them now. Instead, it enhanced the oddly fey contours of the woman’s face and turned the man’s lanky height gaunt and forbidding. Even at half-size everything about them practically shouted “technomage,” in case anyone had been in doubt.

The man spoke first, as smoothly as if this had been rehearsed—which, given the circumstances, it probably had been. “Hello, Captain. My name is Conall, and my companion is Amara. We understand that you are on a mission of peculiar importance, and we have a proposal for you.” The captain lifted one eyebrow and pursed his lips, the very picture on cynical dubiousness. “You are searching for a cure to the plague released on Earth by the Drakh in your most recent conflict with them. We are willing to put our abilities and our knowledge at your disposal, if you will accept them.”

“And why would I need more technomages? I already have one, and he’s enough trouble as it is.” At Gideon’s question, Dureena shot a sidelong glance at Galen. His face revealed nothing, his usual pleasant mask firmly in place despite the jab.

“Every technomage has their own specialties, Captain, and their own peculiar fields of interest. With all three of us, you’ll have a much greater diversity of gifts at your disposal, should you need them.” The question had been directed to Conall, but it was Amara who answered.

Gideon leaned back in his chair, considering the two figures. “That may be so, but why should I trust you? It’s awfully convenient, the two of your showing up here just as my crew and I were in the area, wouldn’t you say?” Their answering shrugs were almost in unison.

“Coincidences do happen, Captain. Perhaps it’s best to think of it as the Universe putting the right tool in your path when you need it,” Amara replied, with a hint of a smile glimmering at the corners of her mouth. Somehow that touch of lightness seemed to ease the tension in the room, and Dureena found herself relaxing a little and leaning back in her chair as Conall took up the thread of their answer.

“We understand that you have no reason to trust us, Captain. I can only assure you that we, like Galen and some others of our order, retain a sense of... obligation. Responsibility, if you will. We can’t hide out beyond the Rim when we might be of use here, and we truly believe we can be of use, in our own ways.”

Gideon’s gaze went distant and calculating for a few seconds. Then he nodded sharply. “All right. If there are going to be more technomages mixed up in this mess—and I know enough about technomages to doubt whether I can stop you if you put your minds to it—you might as well all be where I can keep an eye on you. I’ll send someone to escort you to the bridge so you can meet the rest of the team in person.” The two figures bowed their assent and winked out, and Gideon leaned back with a sigh. “One technomage is enough trouble without adding two more. I’d better not regret this, Galen.”

“Cheer up, Matthew. With three of us, the odds that a technomage will be around what you merely want one go up substantially.” With that parting shot, Galen swept out of the room. A few minutes later Dureena saw a shadow slipping through the star-dappled slice of space framed by the observation window, and knew that anyone bothering to check his berth would find it empty.


End file.
